Still Smokin'

The old-school art of cold-smoking has its place in Philly.

by Drew Lazor

Drew Lazor

Placing a pile of blistering, flame-engulfed wood in close proximity to a bunch of ice sounds like the perfect recipe for water. In reality, they're the two required elements for cold-smoking, an ancient chilly-climate technique that's de rigueur this time of year for chefs, including ours in Philadelphia.

What we generally refer to as smoking — that is, stringing something over an open flame so the cast-off smoke cooks it — is technically "hot-smoking." Cold-smoking is considered more a means of preservation, originating in the pre-refrigeration era. The science behind cold-smoking, generally practiced only in the winter months when outdoor temperatures are ideal, is simple: Starting with a salt-cured protein and exposing it, over a long period of time, to a calm smoke (think 70 degrees Fahrenheit or lower) preserves it, because the phenolic compounds present in smoke greatly slow the oxidation of fat. Cold-smoking ensures such results are achieved without fully cooking through — and thus reducing the lifespan of — a protein, as with hot-smoking.

One local place to witness the art form in its purest scarf-weather form is Café Estelle (444 N. Fourth St.), where chef/owner Marshall Green (above) reserves sides of organic Irish salmon for the tin-can smoker in the parking lot outside his restaurant. He loads one chamber of his smoker with hickory chips, and lately has been placing volleyball-size snow boulders on its lid to further retard the heat. In the smoker's second, longer chamber, he rests his salmon — cured in a mixture that includes salt, brown sugar, coriander and lemon zest — on a grill grate, trays of ice directly underneath it. Once the hickory is sparked, the salmon enjoys the company of this "easy smoke" for six hours before Green pulls the fish and slices it up for anything from a Jewish deli-style fish platter to salmon-laden scrambled eggs with caviar.

Drew Lazor

Brian Lofink, chef at the Sidecar Bar & Grille (2201 Christian St.), cold-smokes salmon for his brunch menu. "It's a textural thing," says Lofink of the appeal of the subtly smoky finished product. "[Cold-smoked salmon] is almost like eating a real nice, thinly sliced prosciutto. Not overwhelming, more balanced."

Speaking of pork: Jeremy Nolen of Brauhaus Schmitz (718 South St.) cold-smokes Westphalian ham, a Teutonic specialty cured with adjuncts like juniper berries and black pepper, for a total of 16 hours. He shuts off the rotisserie in his kitchen, loads it up with ice trays and positions an external smoker box to get the job done. Nolen also recently cold-smoked venison for a carpaccio he served at a Feb. 7 Yards beer dinner.

"I love the dimension of flavor [cold-smoking] can add to foods when done right," says Jason Cichonski, who's working on opening Mica (8609 Germantown Ave.) in Chestnut Hill along with Blackfish's Chip Roman. The former Lacroix chef, who jokingly refers to himself as a "cold-smoking assassin," has tried the process with maple syrup, brioche dough, Parmesan rinds and lobster fat, and hopes to incorporate it onto Mica's menu. By the time the restaurant opens, though, the atmosphere might not want to cooperate — cold-smoking is shelved come spring, so get it while it's hot/cold.

(drew.lazor@citypaper.net)